


Hanging by a Moment

by DecemberCamie



Category: Downton Abbey, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Friends to Lovers, POV Multiple, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2020-05-31 12:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19426411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecemberCamie/pseuds/DecemberCamie
Summary: "Father thinks I’m going to be in Gryffindor,” she explains a loud, kicking her legs against the base of her train seat. “He says I’m too daring and stubborn to be anything else. Mother disagrees; she thinks I’m going to be in Hufflepuff. I’ve always been ‘sweet Sybil’ to her.”“And what do you think?” the boy sitting across from her asks quietly. He has a steady, blue gaze and brown hair that shines gold in the flickering light. Attached to his chest is a pin with a roaring lion.“...I’m not sure,” she answers after a pause. “No one’s ever asked me that.”The boy frowns at her. “No one? But it's your opinion that matters most.”“Does it?”“It does,” he says with a smile. That single action lights up his entire face, making him seem years younger, and their cart seems warmer somehow. “Your opinion always matters, Sybil.”





	1. Year One

Sybil wasn’t scared as she stepped onto the train. 

How could she be? She’d been waiting for this day for what seemed like forever—first hearing about it from her parents, to watching Mary walk through the crowds with her head held high, then gazing longingly after Edith as she melted into the platform’s hidden entrance. 

Yes, Sybil has been waiting for an eternity for this day to arrive. It’s the start of an adventure, the biggest adventure of her young life, and she wouldn’t miss it for the world.

“That’s why Father thinks I’m going to be in Gryffindor,” she explains a loud, kicking her legs against the base of her train seat. Muffled _thunks_ echo around the compartment with every kick. “He says I’m too daring and stubborn to be anything else. Mother disagrees; she thinks I’m going to be in Hufflepuff. I’ve always been ‘sweet Sybil’ to her.”

“And what do you think?” the boy sitting across from her asks quietly. He has a steady, blue gaze and brown hair that shines gold in the flickering light. Attached to his chest is a Gryffindor pin with a roaring lion.

It’s a nice pin, Sybil thinks. It makes her wonder what it might look like pinned to her chest, too.

“...I’m not sure,” she answers after a pause. “No one’s ever asked me that.”

The boy frowns at her. “No one? But it's your opinion that matters most.”

“Does it?” It’s an odd thing for Sybil to hear. She’s always had her own opinions, of course. It’s the reason why her father thinks she’s a bloodborne Gryffindor, after all. But her opinions, as loud as they are, were always overlooked. Mary was brilliant, dazzling—she stole the spotlight regardless if she meant to or not. And Edith was always doing her absolute best to chase after _Mary’s_ spotlight. Their shadows combined were enough to cast Sybil in the dark, sometimes.

Not that she didn’t love her sisters. Because she did. They were her best friends, and she adored them both. But she was the youngest of the three, and therefore always the last by default.

And yet this boy— _Tom Branson,_ he’d said politely when he introduced himself, twelve years old and sitting alone in this car while every other one was filled with shouts of friends and pealing laughter...he was looking directly at her. Like she was the only person who existed on earth. Like her opinion _mattered._

“It does,” he says with a smile. That single action lights up his entire face, making him seem years younger, and their cart seems warmer somehow. “Your opinion _always_ matters, Sybil.”

Sybil’s chest fills with bubbling warmth. She beams back, and says, “Thank you, Tom.”

She doesn’t know which Hogwarts House she’ll end up in. But she wouldn’t mind being in Gryffindor, if only to see Tom smile like that again.

* * *

William isn’t paying much attention to the Sorting. He’s seen it for the last two years, one of them being his own, and it kind of loses its charm after the first time. He’s much more interested in the food that will soon be filling the gold plates in front of him. The Welcoming Ceremony food is _always_ the best—

But then he notices Tom Branson’s face and his thoughts of food and a warm bed come screeching to a halt.

Cautiously, William leans across the table, to where Branson is staring unblinkingly down at his own empty plate. “What’s up with you?” he whispers. He doesn’t know Branson all too well. His fellow classmate has only one of two moods, as far as William is aware—moody and silent, or firey and loud. _Incredibly_ loud, that is. 

But William’s never seen this particular expression on Branson’s face before. His eyebrows are pulled down, eyes glaring at the table and a deep frown on his lips. It’s a look of disappointment and anger and something else—something William can’t place.

“It’s nothing,” Branson says shortly. William almost leaves it at that, because a moody Branson is not someone to mess with, but then he notices Branson’s gaze lifting and shifting to look over Williams shoulder. And that’s when something sad enters his eyes.

William can’t help it. He’s too curious not to look around now, so he does, following Branson’s gaze to land on a newly claimed Slytherin taking her place next to the eldest Crawley sister.

His eyebrows shoot up. _Sybil Crawely,_ Professor Hughes had called out. The youngest and last daughter of the famous pureblood Crawley family. A family that was rumored to link all the way to the Royal Family themselves.

William turns back around. Branson’s still staring at Sybil. 

“Do you know her?” William asks and Branson’s eyes finally flicker away from the dark haired and pale skinned girl to meet William’s gaze.

Branson’s answer is vague. “I met her on the train here. She was anxious. She didn’t know which House she was going to be Sorted into.”

William glances over his shoulder once more. Sybil Crawley looks very small sitting next to her older regal-looking sister, whom had been Sorted into Slytherin the year before Branson and William’s. As he watches, the slimy Thomas Barrow leans forward from across the table to murmur something to her, causing Sybil to smile timidly in return.

“Well,” William says as another forgettable name rings through the Great Hall. “She’s a Slytherin, now.”

“Aye. That she is.”

“And if she’s anything like her sisters, she’s sure to be a firecracker.”

 _That_ finally gets a glint of a smile out of Branson.

* * *

“Sybil,” Mary calls loudly. 

Her youngest sister looks away from the Gryffindor boy at her side. She perks up at the sight of Mary, says something quick to the boy, then bounds over. Mary keeps her eyes trained on the boy as he bows his head and ducks around the corner and out of sight.

“Mary, hello!” Sybil says breathlessly when she arrives at Mary’s side. Her cheeks are flushed pink and her blue eyes are bright.

“Who is that you were talking to?” Mary asks, getting right to the point.

“Hm? Oh, that was Tom Branson!” Sybil clasps her gloved hands behind her back. They’re a few months into the school year and the weather is growing colder every day. “He has class in Herbology right after me. He’s a friend.”

“A friend in your Year?”

“No, he’s a Second Year. He was just stopping to ask how my class went.”

“Hm.” Mary didn’t recognize the name. She’d seen the colors of his scarves—gold and red—and knew he was a Gryffindor. Why would Sybil talk to a Gryffindor not in her year?

“Where are you off to?” Sybil asks, breaking Mary’s line of thought. 

“...I’m heading down to Potions,” Mary answers and Sybil beams. 

“Excellent! I was heading back to the dorms, myself. What are you learning today?”

“Well—”

They head off towards the dungeons, Mary speaking slowly as she explains the potion Professor Patmore is going to teach them today. Sybil listens attentively with an eager gleam in her blue eyes and a spring in her step.

Mary doesn’t ask about Tom Branson again. But she doesn’t forget about him, either.

* * *

Logically, Gwen Dawson should have become friends with Tom Branson first. They weren’t in the same House, but their tables in the Great Hall were placed right next to each other and Gwen _knows_ she’s passed Tom more than once in the halls. But she just never had a _reason_ to talk to the older Gryffindor, before.

It doesn’t stay that way forever, though. Gwen becomes friends with Tom, because she becomes friends with Sybil Crawley. Sybil, who is a Slytherin in her year gifted at Charms and Potions and even Herbology, but not so much with Astronomy or Transfiguration. 

Gwen’s not so good at Astronomy, either. But that’s okay, because the Ravenclaws have this subject with the Slytherins. And after Sybil sits next to Gwen on the first day of class, they become friends for life.

It’s Sybil who introduces Gwen to Tom. _They_ met on Sybil’s first train ride to Hogwarts, and it’s easy to see why they were so taken with each other on first meeting.

Tom and Sybil both have that wide-eyed curiosity, a fire in their guts to do something, _be_ something, to try new things and take an active part in the world around them. They drag Gwen from the Library to Professors’ offices, then back to the Library again. 

“I’m sorry, I just don’t understand why you need my help with all of this,” Gwen tells Sybil one day, cheeks burning red from running all over the Castle. “Can’t you and Tom ask the Professors these questions on your own? Or do the research?”

Sybil gives her an odd look. “Well, yes, I suppose so. But that’d defeat the point, wouldn’t it?”

Sybil’s answer only makes Gwen more confused. She says, “I still don’t understand.”

Sybil sighs and shakes her head, smiling. “You’re our friend, Gwen. It wouldn’t be fun without you. Besides, you’re a Ravenclaw! Aren’t you just a little bit curious about what’s going on in the world?”

Tom tell her much the same. “We’re friends, Gwen. And once you’re friends with Sybil, she never lets you lose.” His lips twitch into a smile, then. His eyes are soft. “So that means we’re in this together, now. Whether you like it or not.”

And they are friends, Gwen comes to realize. Between the theories they challenge and the secret passageways they discover and the laughter and smiles and stories, she and Tom and Sybil become a trio. An odd trio for sure—with a first generation Ravenclaw, an aristocrat Slytherin, and an Irish Gryffindor—but a trio all the same.

And Gwen finds she rather likes it. It’s nice, belonging to a group of people who chose her and she chose in return. It feels like a family, in a way.

* * *

It’s been too long since Cora has seen her girls. So she and Robert arrive on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters an hour too early, and are the first of many parents to start yelling their children’s names when students begin to pour out of the train.

Mary, their ever dutiful yet rambunctious daughter, finds them first. 

“The train ride was dull, like always,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Really, I don’t know why you must ask that every time we come home for the summer.”

“Your mother just missed you,” Robert says back and pulls Mary into a side hug. Mary scoffs, but the small smile on her lips is more than enough to reveal her true feelings.

Edith is second, as expected. 

“Sorry, Mother, I was saying goodbye to some friends of mine.”

Mary asks, “Imaginary friends, or real ones?”

Edith bristles at that and starts spitting fire in Mary’s direction. Mary, never one for turning down a challenge, fires right back at her. Robert has to step in to break them apart but Cora is scanning the crowd for their youngest daughter. For her sweet Sybil.

It’s only after a few minutes of searching that she spots her. 

Sybil is hugging a girl with fiery red hair and a bright beam. The boy at Sybil’s side does the same, then they both wave the girl as she sets off into the crowd. The boy turns to Sybil, and she to him. 

Cora can’t hear what they’re saying. Not from this distance. But she sees the boy’s smile, how his gaze never once strays from Sybil’s face, and it makes something in Cora’s chest twist. As Cora watches, Sybil shoves something into the boy’s hands. He looks down at it briefly, then back at Sybil. The grin on his face grows before he pulls her into a tight embrace.

This hug...it’s different than the one with the girl. Cora can tell. With this hug, Sybil and the boy both hold onto each other like they never wish to be pulled apart. The boy’s face is buried into the crook of Sybil’s neck and Sybil’s fists twist the back of his shirt into bunches. The strength of this hug is obvious even from where Cora is standing.

Cora opens her mouth. _“Sybil!”_ she calls, loud enough for it to reach her daughter’s ears through the bustle of the crowd.

Sybil jolts at the sound of her name, leaning away from the boy. Her eyes light up upon catching sight of Cora and she turns to say something to the boy. He squeezes her hands tightly before—reluctantly—letting go. Sybil straightens her hat then spins around to run in the Crawley family’s direction.

Sybil flies into Cora’s arms like she was meant to be there. Cora feels the tension slide off her shoulders at the familiar feel of her youngest daughter and hugs Sybil back with all the strength she possesses. She missed Sybil. So very much. She is her baby and it had been difficult surviving the past year without her, even more so than when Mary or Edith had started their schooling.

“Oh, my sweet Sybil.” Cora presses a kiss into dark hair. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“You too,” Sybil sighs and hugs Cora tighter. 

“Sybil!” comes Robert’s booming voice. Sybil is pulled into her father’s arms a second later, and Cora looks on with a beam as Robert and Sybil embrace.

She can feel eyes on her, though. She glances back to see that boy still standing there. He’s smiling gently at Sybil, but not showing any sign of moving on to find his own family.

It’s...strange. 

“Sybil,” Cora begins. “Who is that boy?”

“Hm?” Sybil twists in Robert’s arms. “Oh! That’s Tom.”

“Tom?” Cora echoes.

“Tom Branson. He’s my friend, Mother.”

Sybil waves at Tom and Tom waves back. It’s only then that he finally— _finally_ —turns away and vanishes into the crowd. Cora watches him until he disappears from her sight, frowning.

How very strange, indeed.

* * *

Kieran didn’t seem too keen on how invested Tom had become with writing letters, lately.

“Is that another one?” his brother scoffs, glancing over Tom’s shoulder as he scribbled something onto a piece of paper.

Not that it’s any of his business.

“Yes,” Tom says shortly and continues writing.

“Didn’t you already write one?”

“That was a week and a half ago, Kieran.”

Kieran sniffs. “Dunno why you bother. How do ya even know they get mail from the mailbox?”

Tom pauses, takes a deep, calming breath, and goes back to his letter. The letter for Sybil.

“I won’t send it that way,” Tom explains. “We use owls to send letters.”

That seems to be too difficult for Kieran to process, for he huffs and turns on his heel. As he walks away he hears Kieran mutter under his breath about “owls” and “wizards” and “magic”...

Kieran isn’t a wizard. He doesn’t understand where Tom goes off to school, or why he’s so preoccupied with writing weekly letters to a witch hundreds of miles away. He’s a muggle, though, so Tom wouldn’t really expect him to understand. The Bransons were all Muggles. Tom is the first of his family to attend Hogwarts.

Tom stares down at the letter. Sybil couldn’t be more different from him. She’s a pureblood, born immersed in a world of magic Tom is still struggling to understand. Tom thinks Sybil herself is made of magic sometimes, with her melodic laugh and sparkling eyes. She’s amazing. And Tom couldn’t be more grateful that she sat next to him that day on the train.

He signs the letter with his name only— _Tom_ —and seals it. 

He’ll send it with Sybil’s family owl, Isis, first thing tomorrow morning. And then he’ll go back to waiting for her reply for another seven days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I've been working on this fic for a while, hopefully I'll be able to finish it one day...I plan on writing one chapter per year. So there should be seven chapters of this when all is said and done. Check out below for a guide of the characters' years and years!
> 
> [[my tumblr]](https://decembercamiecherries.tumblr.com/)   
>  [{my twitter}](https://twitter.com/decembercamie)
> 
> **Hogwarts students guide:**  
>  Sybil Crawley - Y1, Slytherin, pureblood  
> Gwen Dawson - Y1, Ravenclaw, Muggleborn  
> Tom Branson - Y2, Gryffindor, Muggleborn  
> William Manson - Y2, Gryffindor, Muggleborn  
> Edith Crawley - Y2, Hufflepuff, pureblood  
> Mary Crawley - Y3, Slytherin, pureblood  
> Thomas Barrow - Y3, Slytherin, half-blood  
> -  
> Mrs. Hughes - professor, Head of Hufflepuff, half-blood  
> Robert Crawley - graduated, Gryffindor, pureblood  
> Cora Crawley - graduated, attended American Magic school, pureblood


	2. Year Two

“We’re going down to the quidditch pitch later,” Sybil tells her at the start of another school year. “Would you like to come?”

Edith pauses at that. “We?” she asks. She knows Mary has her friends—she’s _Mary,_ how could she not have a flock of admirers following her left and right—but Sybil is another question altogether. Edith doesn’t actually pay much attention to Sybil. She sees her sister sometimes through the halls and she’s always smiling, so. That must mean something good.

But who this ‘we’ is, exactly, Edith has no idea.

“Well, it’s me, and Anna and Gwen and Tom—”

“Tom?” Edith repeats. 

“Yes, my friend Tom!” Sybil gives her this odd look, like Edith should know or at least have heard about this Tom fellow before now. “He’s a friend of mine and Gwen’s.” 

When Edith continues to look at her blankly, Sybil sighs and adds, “He’s close with Matthew?”

Ah. Edith wrinkles her nose. _Matthew_. Their new neighbor who’d taken a fancy to Mary. Because it was always about Mary, in the end.

She sets her shoulders and tries her best not to scowl. “And why are you and Matthew and this Tom fellow all going down to the quidditch pitch?” 

“It’s the Slytherin team tryouts. Mary’s trying out this year—Edith?”

Edith had stopped short in the middle of the hallway. Blood roars in her ears and her palms sting as her nails dig into her palms.

Mary, _of course._ Why would it ever be anything or anyone else?

“I won’t be going,” she says shortly and turns smartly on her heel. She doesn’t turn at the sound of Sybil’s surprised call, and she does _not_ go to the quidditch pitch after dinner, either.

Why would she bother wasting her time to watch Mary be spectacular at every little thing?

* * *

“Did you suddenly become a Slytherin overnight, Branson?”

Both Sybil Crawley and Tom Branson look up at Thomas’ question. Sybil is questioning, Branson irritated. Thomas smirks and cups his cheek in his palm. It’s all too easy to get the hot-headed Branson riled up.

“No,” Branson says shortly. “And I see you didn’t become any less of an arse overnight, either.”

“Tom!” Sybil hisses and Thomas makes a _tch_ -ing sound. 

“Careful there, Branson,” he warns. He glances to the side, where Professor O’Brien is walking up the length of the Great Hall towards the Professors’ table. “Wouldn’t want to say anything you wouldn’t mean…”

“I _do_ mean it, Barrow. I’m not afraid to say what’s on my mind.”

“Issat so? Then why don’t you be so kind to tell me just what else you think of—?”

“Cut it out, you two!”

It’s Sybil who interrupts Thomas, her tone sharp and final. She doesn’t look angry—not yet, at least—but there’s a clear warning in her voice. She’s looking at Thomas pointedly and Thomas just smiles back. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s not afraid of Sybil Crawley and her famous pureblood name that dates back for centuries.

“I’m just giving him a friendly warning. Don’t see any harm in that, _m’lady.”_

“What do you mean by _warning—_ ”

“It’s fine,” Branson says shortly. He’s gathering up the newspaper clippings and magical rights books he and Sybil have been pouring over for the better part of the past hour. “I’ll just go back to the Gryffindor table, then.”

“No—” Sybil looks back and forth between Branson’s annoyed face and Thomas’ smug one, “—Tom, please, you really don’t have to go!”

“I do.” He throws a final glare at Thomas. “I’m clearly not welcome here.”

He’s off and away in the next second. Sybil stares after him, her mouth twisted in a frown. 

She whirls on Thomas, seething. “Why did you have to do that?” she demands and Thomas forces himself to remain calm as he bears the full brunt of her fury. “You’re only in Mary’s year—you can’t be a prefect until next year! There’s no way you could have punished him.”

Thomas shrugs. “Who knows. Maybe I have my own way of doing things—”

“You just didn’t want him sitting with the Slytherins.”

“And so what if I didn’t?” he leans forward, across the table and into Sybil’s space, but she doesn’t budge an inch. Sybil has always been as brave as she had been ambitious. “He doesn’t _belong_ here, Sybil. He’s muggleborn—”

Sybil stands up abruptly, expression enraged. _“Anyone_ is allowed to sit anywhere, Thomas. He’s a person too, even if he’s not a Slytherin. Houses and blood relations...none of that matters. I do wish you’d realize that.”

Sybil stomps off towards the Gryffindor table to rejoin Branson without saying another word. Thomas watches her go, sees the tight line of her shoulders and the white knuckles of her fists. He feels the slightest twinge of remorse deep in his stomach. He likes Sybil—not in _that way_ because he had never liked girls _that_ much and never would...but he likes Sybil all the same.

There are few people who are kind to Thomas. Sybil is one of them.

Branson, however, is not. So Thomas turns back to his tea and Daily Prophet, a satisfied smile lingering at the corners of his lips.

* * *

The students form a study group. Mostly because magic is hard, and studying is hard, and putting them together is even _harder_ , so—

So they figure putting all their heads together to solve their studying woes would probably be more efficient than not. 

Alfred doesn’t really join for any of those reasons, though. Alfred joins because the study sessions are held in the Library after dinner on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and sometimes—if he’s lucky—a cute girl named Ivy will wander in to look at some books with the other First Years. 

Alfred tries to lean around Tom Branson’s figure to get a glimpse of the book aisle behind him. True, Ivy is a year younger than him, but he’d thought she was beautiful since the moment she stepped up to the Sorting Hat. His heart had practically lept out of his chest when she was sorted into his House and then sat beside him at the Hufflepuff table. He’d never been so lucky—

“You’re going to hurt your neck if you keep craning it like that, you know.”

Alfred jumps. Tom is staring at him with raised eyebrows, his gold and red pin shining on his chest in the dim Library lighting. 

“Is she that cute that you gotta look over at her every two minutes?” Tom asks, not unkindly. 

“I—I—” Alfred’s face burns. He doesn’t know what to say. He’d never expected to be caught _staring_. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Tom rolls his eyes so hard they almost vanish into his head. “Alfred, you sit in the same spot every study session. You and I both know what I mean.”

Alfred can’t tell what’s worse: that Tom called him out or that Tom had noticed his lingering looks for weeks now without saying a single word. Alfred looks down at his Second Year Transfiguration textbook, shoulders hunched and face red enough to rival Tom’s tie. 

“Why don’t you just talk to her? She’s in your House, right?” 

Alfred’s gut shrivels at the thought. “Wh—no! What if she doesn’t want to talk to me?”

Tom sighs heavily. The Third Year Gryffindor looks like he’s ready to smack Alfred’s head with his wand, but he doesn’t. Instead he lays his quill down on top the piece of parchment he’d been writing on, and gives Alfred a piercing stare. 

“There’s no harm in trying,” Tom says. “You just have to be brave.”

“That’s a _Gryffindor_ trait, not a Hufflepuff one.”

“Don’t be daft. I know plenty of brave Slytherins and Ravenclaws—we’re not defined by our House, or by our Year. You can be friends with anyone at Hogwarts.”

Tom’s eyes glaze over for a moment. He’s thinking of someone, Alfred is sure, but he’s not daring enough to ask who. He’s still shocked that Tom is talking to him right now. Why would a Third Year Gryffindor be moved to help a Second Year Hufflepuff get with a girl?

“If you can’t be brave,” Tom says after a short pause, “Then just be kind. Invite her to next week’s study session.”

Alfred’s stomach twists into knots and he can’t help but glance at Ivy again. She’s starting to head towards the door, giggling with another girl in her year. The pair duck under a soaring stack of books as they continue to walk to the exit. Soon Ivy will be out of sight. 

Alfred meets Tom’s gaze again, panic settling in. Could it really be as simple as Tom says? “B-But, she’s so smart...what if she doesn’t need help?”

Tom snorts. “We _all_ need help with Professor O’Brien’s Transfiguration homework, no matter what Year you’re in. Trust me. Now go after her.”

Alfred doesn’t need to be told twice. He leaps off the bench and takes after Ivy and the other girl—another Hufflepuff First Year whose name he thinks is Daisy. 

“HEY, IVY!” he shouts at their retreating backs. “WAIT UP!”

* * *

“Why didn’t you go to Hogsmead, Tom?” Matthew asks with a frown on one cold, spring day. “You’re a Third Year now. Surely you got permission?”

“He did,” Sybil Crowley pipes up from Tom’s other side. Matthew likes Sybil—she’s a fearless and resilient sort of girl, the kind who should be wearing gold and red rather than silver and green. How she ended up in the same House as Mary is a mystery. “But he refused to go.”

That’s news to Matthew. “What? Why not?”

Tom shrugs. He looks uncomfortable, stuck between Sybil and Matthew as the three make their way towards their next classes. “I had a lot of work to do.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sybil says with a shake of her head. “You finished all your homework with me over the week!”

Matthew is truly confused now. “Well, then why didn’t you come with me? I would’ve been glad for the company!”

“I thought you were going with Mary,” Tom shot back. 

Sybil gasps, “What? She didn’t tell me that!” 

“That’s because we _didn’t_ go together,” Matthew says awkwardly. He lowers his voice as they start down the steps and pass by a group of chattering Fifth Years, “She, well...when it came time to go, I couldn’t find her. I’m not quite sure why she didn’t show, we agreed to walk there together.”

Sybil frowns. Matthew knows what she’s thinking without having to say it out loud—Mary _would_ be the kind of person to avoid her feelings rather than face them head first. Or, Matthew hopes there are feelings involved. They haven’t known each other for even a year yet, but Matthew can’t help the strange draw he feels with the eldest Crawley sister. Mary truly is a class all of her own and Matthew can’t help but gravitate towards her. 

“I can find her and ask if you like?” Sybil offers, cutting through Matthew’s thoughts. 

“No, no, there’s no need. If she doesn’t want to see me, that’s that.”

“But weren’t you lonely at Hogsmead?” Sybil pushes. Tom is quiet between them, watching Sybil somewhat intently as she speaks. “Mary abandoned you, that’s not right! She should apologize.”

“Sybil,” Matthew says with a small smile. It’s hard not to be charmed by Sybil’s righteous anger on his behalf. “I was fine. I ran into Lavinia—”

Tom starts at that. His head snaps around and he gapes at Matthew as if taking Lavinia to Hogsmead is the strangest news he’s heard all year. “Lavinia? The girl who turns red as a tomato whenever you so much as say hello? _That_ Lavinia?”

“Yes, that Lavinia.” Matthew says defensively. “And there’s no need to be rude, Tom. She happens to be a very nice girl and I was happy for the company—”

“Wait, who is this Lavinia?” Sybil interrupts. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of her before.”

“Well, that’s because she’s a Hufflepuff from my Year,” Matthew says quickly before Tom can say anything. “We have some classes together and she was quite eager to accompany me when I asked her.”

Tom and Sybil share a look. There’s some form of silent communication between them, a conversation Matthew can’t hear but can see all too well. 

“What is it?” he asks. It’s not like Lavinia is a serial killer or anything even remotely close to a poor choice of company. It makes no sense why the two would look so apprehensive. 

“Nothing!” Sybil says in a fake sky cheerful tone. She jumps down the last set of stairs and whirls around to give Matthew and Tom a bright smile. “I’ll see if I can find Mary for you after my Herbology lesson ends. Bye!”

“That’s not necessary!” he calls after her. But she just waves as she passes through the door, her dark hair bouncing with every step. Matthew sighs heavily and turns to Tom.

“Really, though, Why didn’t you go to Hogsmead? Was it studying?”

Tom tears his eyes away from the doorway where Sybil disappeared and shrugs. Matthew cocks an eyebrow; there’s something that Tom isn’t telling him. He isn’t sure how he feels about it, especially since Matthew considers Tom one of his few true friends here despite the House and Year difference. 

“You can tell me you know,” Matthew tries again, careful not to sound too pushy. “We’ve been friends long enough, haven’t we?” 

Tom looks thoughtful. After a short pause, he asks, “...would you have gone to Hogsmead if you knew Mary wasn’t going to show?” 

Matthew stares at him, unsure of how to respond. 

* * *

“Here,” Tom says and dumps an armful of books into Sybil’s arms. “For you.”

Sybil’s arms almost give out under the weight but she just manages to keep a hold on them all. She blinks down at the covers, surprise washing over her. This is why Tom wanted to stay behind on the train?

“B-But,” she stammers out. “Why—?”

“They’re books.”

“Well, _yes,_ I figured that out.”

“They’re books about history,” Tom explains quickly, as if she’ll give the books back if he doesn’t explain the reasoning behind it. “About the riots allowing muggle-borns to practice magic in the workforce, the feud between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Muggle books on the women’s suffrage movement—”

“Tom!” Sybil gasps. Her heart leaps in her chest, blood racing as excitement settles in her veins. “Don’t tell me—did you really give me _Muggle books?”_

“...yes?” he says hesitantly and Sybil could burst with excitement. 

“Oh, Tom, this is—!” She hugs the books to her chest and beams. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so wide. “I love this, thank you! Father would never let me read these…”

Tom stares at her. His blue eyes are wide and his hair is flopping into his face a little, but it’s a good look on him. She can’t stop smiling at him, not after the wonderful gift he gave her, and after a beat he smiles hesitantly back. 

“You really like them?”

“Of course! It will be so fascinating to read all of these. I’ll have to write to you all about them.”

“Please do, I…” His voice trails off. He’s looking at her in that intense, funny way he does sometimes. Like he’s lost his train of thought and she is the culprit. 

He clears his throat. “I would like that—if you wrote to me, I mean. I’m glad I can make you happy, Sybil.”

Sybil carefully places the books on the train seat behind her, determined not to drop any. Then she extends a hand and squeezes his wrist. “You’re my friend, Tom. You and Gwen, you two are the best friends I could ever hope for.”

“And you, to us.”

He places a warm hand over hers and gently squeezes back. A soft moment settles over them. Sybil gazes at her friend, memories flooding her mind: Tom rushing to her side as Isis delivers the Daily Prophet, eager to see the latest wizard news; Gwen carefully sewing Tom and Sybil’s robes by hand after they’d taken a fall running across the grounds; Tom’s brilliant blue eyes and Gwen’s hesitant smile—

“Sybil!”

The pair starts and leap away from each other. Edith is standing in the open doorway of the train compartment, her sour expression turning into one of surprise. 

“Edith,” Sybil says quickly and shows her the books. “Look what Tom got me!”

Her elder sister barely glances down. “That’s...nice, Sybil, but Mother and Father are worried about you, and you know how Mary gets if she’s kept waiting—”

“Yes, of course. I—” Sybil turns to Tom. The teen’s cheeks are flushed a light shade of pink and he stares awkwardly at the floor. “Tom, would you mind helping me with these?”

Together she and Tom wrestle the books into Sybil’s bag. Edith stands in the hallway, tapping her foot and looking impatiently out the window. Sybil inwardly wishes she wouldn’t—she understands that Edith wants to go, but she could be a little less obvious about it. 

“Well...have a happy summer, Tom.” Sybil offers him another soft smile as they hop off the train and onto the platform. Many of the families have already left during her and Tom’s dawdling and Sybil can already see Edith stalking off towards the rest of her family. They don’t have much time left—

She’s yanked forward into strong arms. She lets out a quiet gasp as she’s surrounded by Tom. He hugs her with all his strength and it takes her a minute to get over her shock before she returns his hug with equal strength. 

“Happy summer, Sybil. Promise you’ll write.”

“I promise,” Sybil swears and leans away. “I have to tell you about your Muggle books, right?”

When they separate, Tom is beaming. 

* * *

“Why would Matthew invite us over for quidditch?” Mary asks, wrinkling her nose. It’s the middle of summer, with the brilliant sun rays beating on their backs and making her hair stick to her neck. It makes her long for the cool days of fall or even the rainy days of spring. It will be difficult playing quidditch in this awful heat. 

“Well, it _couldn’t_ be because you’re both on your House’s quidditch teams and he wants to practice, now could it?” Edith says in a mockingly thoughtful tone. 

Mary shoots her a narrow-eyed glare. “Don’t act so self-righteous, Edith. It makes you look like a fool.”

“I’m not a fool _—_ you’re the one who asked the foolish question in the first place!”

“ _Don’t_ you dare _—_ ”

“Mary, Edith!” 

Sybil shoves her way between the two elder siblings, forcing them to separate. “We’re not even there yet, can’t we walk down the road without getting into a fight!” she pleads. 

Edith huffs and Mary pointedly looks away. It’s not her fault Edith is insufferable. Edith has always been jealous—jealous that Mary is the one on her House’s quidditch team and she isn’t, jealous that Mary got a Prefect badge in her Hogwarts letter just yesterday, jealous of the personal note Professor Carston sent with his own owl to congratulate her. 

Edith can never match Mary. Not in grades or raw power or popularity, and _especially_ not in quidditch. Even Sybil had been better on a broom when the three of them used to play quidditch as children, though not good enough to touch Mary. 

Matthew is the only one who can match Mary these days—both on and off their brooms. And Mary isn’t so sure how she feels about that.

The door to Matthew’s home flies open as the three Crawley sisters arrive at the front steps. Matthew stands there, beaming, his blue eyes shining with excitement, and Mary’s heart gives that strange little flutter—

“I have a surprise for you,” he says. 

Edith groans. “ _Please_ don’t tell me you had us drag our brooms all the way down the road for us not to play quidditch.”

“Of course not,” he laughs. “I brought someone to play with us.”

He steps to the side, and a person Mary recognizes but doesn’t know steps into the light. 

Sybil lets out a gasp. Her broom clatters to the ground and she flies up the last few steps to throw herself into Tom Branson’s arms. The strength from her hug forces Branson to stumble backwards into Matthew’s home 

“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” Mary hears Sybil cry out. 

“I didn’t know! Matthew only sent the owl yesterday—”

Matthew slides next to Mary and nudges her shoulder. “Cheer up, Mary. You should be pleased.”

“Why on earth would I be pleased that you invited Sybil’s strange friend over to play quidditch with us?” Mary asks shortly. Edith picks Sybil’s broom off the ground and heads inside to return it to their sister. Mary distantly hears her chiding Sybil and Branson’s responding laugh. 

“Because,” Matthew says patiently. “Now it’ll be an even game.”

Mary raises an eyebrow at him. She tries her best not to let her heart race at their close proximity, to let her eyes wander over his face. She’s known Matthew for a year now but he seems to grow more and more handsome with every meeting. 

She asks in a steady tone, “And how do you suppose that?”

“Well, if me and Edith are on one team, and you and Tom are on another—”

Mary cuts him off with a shake of her head. “What about Sybil? You cannot convince me that is an even game—not unless Tom Branson is about as poor on a broomstick as Edith.”

“He might be even worse,” Matthew says cheerfully and Mary stares. 

“...you’re joking.”

“Not at all. And Sybil could play Beater against both teams. What do you say?”

Mary mulls that over. She can already see Sybil swinging her bat with a wild grin. And Edith would always prefer to be on the team opposite of Mary. But Mary knows next to nothing about this Tom Branson aside from being Sybil’s summer pen pal and Matthew’s friend. It would be difficult playing with a stranger on her team.

This is probably some ploy of Matthew’s to get Mary to warm up to Branson. Mary doubts it’ll work, but she wants to wipe the smirk off Matthew’s face sooner rather than later. 

“Let’s fly,” she says and Matthew grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3/21/2020
> 
> So it took like......an age and a half for me to update this but at least I did update it lol! Writing this story is honestly harder than I thought it would be. I've forgotten a lot of the details in the Harry Potter universe and I really want to make sure I'm writing everything correctly. But I wanted to say thank you for all the kind comments readers left on the last chapter, I hope you like this chapter just as much! ^-^
> 
> [[my tumblr]](https://decembercamiecherries.tumblr.com/)   
>  [{my twitter}](https://twitter.com/decembercamie)
> 
> **Hogwarts students guide:**  
>  Daisy Mason - Y1, Hufflepuff, Muggleborn  
> Ivy Stuart - Y1, Hufflepuff, Muggleborn  
> Alfred Nugent - Y2, Hufflepuff, half-blood  
> Sybil Crawley - Y2, Slytherin, pureblood  
> Gwen Dawson - Y2, Ravenclaw, Muggleborn  
> Tom Branson - Y3, Gryffindor, Muggleborn  
> Edith Crawley - Y3, Hufflepuff, pureblood  
> Mary Crawley - Y4, Slytherin, pureblood  
> Thomas Barrow - Y4, Slytherin, half-blood  
> Anna Smith - Y4, Hufflepuff, Muggleborn  
> Lavinia Swire - Y4, Hufflepuff, half-blood  
> Matthew Grey (please note his last name is the same as his mother's maiden name so he wouldn't have the same last name as Mary/Edith/Sybil) - Y4, Ravenclaw, pureblood  
> -  
> Mr. Carston - Headmaster, previously a professor, Slytherin, half-blood  
> Mrs. O'Brien - Transfiguration professor, Head of Slytherin, half-blood


End file.
